Fic: Who Wars [part 1 of 2]
Title: Who Wars
Summary: A Doctor Who/Star Wars mash-up. The Doctor receives a cryptic clue from a - seemingly familiar - floating head, which leads him on an adventure he may, or may not, want to forget…
Disclaimer: We own neither Doctor Who, nor Star Wars [nor any of the other random references, for that matter]. We pleaded with Auntie Beeb and Uncle Lucas, honest we did, but they refused to share. So we’re just borrowing them for a while and might… might… give them back. That is, if they ask nicely…
Warning: Some serious, serious, serious artistic licence has been taken with this story line - historical accuracy has been temporarily banished to the Lost Moon of Poosh. So no complaining…! And yes, it's more of a parody than a serious story ;)
A/N: Written for a very special geeky teacher, by her equally geeky students! *grin* A writing collaboration between me and loopstagirl :) Virtual cookies if you can identify the various added references - some may be more obvious than others! Enjoy!
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Once upon a time… Nah, too boring.” The suited man slammed the book shut and chucked it over his shoulder, causing puffs of grey dust to swirl from its yellowing pages. Reaching up on his tip-toes and sticking his tongue out in concentration, he pulled another from the shelf.
“In a galaxy far, far away… Aha, now that’s more like it!”
*****
THUD. VWROOOP. BANG. VWROOOP
“Righty-ho… tracker on… lever pulled… push this button here…” BANG! “Oops. Maybe not that button.”
Smacking the random flashing light with a mallet, the Doctor danced around the complex machinery gleefully, occasionally giving it another smack for good measure. The shuddering, beginning as a small tremor, became harder and harder, eventually throwing him from his precarious perch flat on his back. As suddenly as everything had begun, the machine fell silent, soft blue light emitting from its core. Climbing to his feet with a shout of laughter, the figure crossed over to the centre, gently patting the controls as he did so.
“So,” he began, trying to decipher the readings on a small screen. “Where you taken me this time, ole’ girl? Death Star… what kind of name is that? Oh well, lets go see."
Fiddling absentmindedly with the controls in front of him, the man first twisted a knob one way, pushed a button over there, then pulled the lever in front of him sharply downwards. Peering once more at the screen, a frown crossed his handsome face. Squinting up his eyes and tilting his head to one side to get a better view, the Doctor paused, then tilted his head the other way to try and establish a better picture of what he was seeing. Tapping at the glass with his forefinger, he eventually worked out what it was looking back at him… but that made no sense whatsoever.
“What?” he muttered softly to himself, fiddling around in his pocket, searching for something. As his hand closed around the comforting weight of his favourite gadget, he spun around to face the reflection.
“What?!” Facing him, a tangy coloured robot stood before him, gun raised and pointed directly at the completely flabbergasted man.
“Roger, roger."
“WHAT?!” Fingers scrabbling, his hand shot out of his pocket, the screwdriver resting in his palm.
“Setting… setting… which setting was it? 2010? Exactamondo, 2010!” With his joyful exclamation, the Doctor hastily twisted the device, almost dropping it in surprise as an emerald green blade swished speedily out of the end with a juuummm. Eyebrows disappearing into his hair line, a sudden clanking noise made the Doctor look up from the hypnotising colour just in time to see a head slowly clunk to the floor, rolling to a stop at his feet. Very slowly, the droid crumpled, the gun hitting the floor with a bang.
“Oops.”
Deactivating the sonic screwdriver, the Doctor dropped it back in his pocket and stood over the remains of the droid, bewildered. And, being a Timelord of 900 years, bewilderment was not an emotion he was used too, nor, quite frankly, did he like. Stepping over the fragments of metal, the man reached the door of the TARDIS and, reaching out for the handle, he stopped suddenly. He patted his jacket frantically.
“Keys… keys… I so need a dish by the door for them, ahh, there they are.” Grabbing the keys and throwing them into his pocket - he would never remember which - the Timelord stepped out of the door.
The first thing to draw his attention was a most peculiar noise, almost like a wheezy breath. Not seeing anyone around, the Doctor frowned up at his TARDIS.
“It wasn’t that far! No need to get all out of breath on me now.”
Bemused, the Doctor smiled, digging his hands into his trousers pockets and causing his long coat to flap out behind him. Whistling to himself, he spun around, one leg flicking to the side as he did so, and found himself face to face with a menacing black figure. Or rather, face to chest. The thing in front of him was enormous!
“Hello! Who are you then? I’m the Doctor.” His broad grin fell into a frown when his cheery greeting was met with heavy breathing. “Ohhh, so you’re the asthmatic one…?”
A large, gloved arm extended towards him. “Aww, there we go,” he reached out his own arm to shake it but suddenly found himself a few metres back from where he had just stood. “Ooo, that was interesting…!” He took out his geek-chic specs from his top jacket pocket and slipped them on, bounding over to the statuesque figure for a closer look. He peered up at the helmeted face, “Ohhh, you beauty! Look at the craftsmanship of that! I haven’t seen something as… argh!” The Doctor found himself cut short as an invisible hand squeezed around his neck, and lifted him clean off the ground.
“Oh… come on… play nicely…” he gasped, finding it really quite difficult to breathe. He surreptitiously slipped a hand into his jacket, fumbling for a setting on the screwdriver. He may have two hearts but he only has one throat - and a very nice one at that, even if he did say so himself. He didn’t want to die now; he had places to go, people to see, queens to marry…
Then seemingly out of the blue, the TARDIS phone started to ring. The Doctor gestured his head towards it, “Mind if… I get that?”
Heavy breathing.
“I’ll take that… as a yes…” Awkwardly he managed to turn around and grab the receiver from behind the little wooden panel. He cautiously held it up to his ear. “Helllllooo?”
He held the receiver out and covered the bottom half with his free hand, whispering: “It’s for you!”
The helmet tilted in slight confusion and, after a pause, took the phone. The Doctor’s über-red converses gratefully touched the ground again. Phew.
“Allons-y!” he waved, and sprinted down the squeaky-clean corridor. Maybe this was a hospital? Just before he skidded around the corner, he dug into his pockets - of course, much bigger on the inside - for the set of keys. Finding the shiniest black one on the ring, he aimed it at the TARDIS and clicked the big yellow button… beepbeep. He grinned at the mystery figure, who was now even more confused than before, “Security. You know, just in case!” He shrugged. “See ya!”
Darth Vader looked from the Doctor to the phone, from the phone to the Doctor. Strange morning. He’d only stepped out to see where his morning coffee had got to…
Seven minutes later, the Doctor was still running. Why did he always do so much running?! Ah well, good for the hearts. He really wasn’t sure where he was going, but then again, did he ever?
“Doctooor…”
Ok, that had got his attention. He slid to a halt and pricked up his ears.
Nothing.
“Hmmm,” he said to no-one in particular. “That was odd-”
“Doctooor…”
Shroom. A door to his left rose up automatically and the Doctor - ever the risk taker - entered cautiously. He probably should have learnt his lesson about following creepy-sounding voices, but he always tried to remain optimistic.
It was dark inside except from an ominous green glow coming from a tank at its centre. The Doctor approached it with familiarity, “Boe?”
As he moved around the coppery machine, carefully stepping over the spreading puddle of sticky-goo, the living contents of the ancient tank emerged from the darkness.
“Ohh,” the Doctor crouched down and placed a hand against the glass. “Oh, the Face of Boe! It’s so nice to see you! I must say, you’re looking a bit different today, old friend…”
“No. Yoe.”
“Huh? Boe?”
“No Boe. Yoe.”
“Oh. Yoe. No Boe?”
“Hmmm?”
“Jadoon…?”
“No. Yoe.”
“Ohhh,” he sighed, “let’s quit this while we’re ahead.” A pause. “Oh, ah, sorry,” he winced as his tactlessness, slowly standing up to examine the giant encased head. It can’t have been comfortable for his large pointy ears to be squashed against the side of the tank like that. He wondered how long he’d been like that - he was awfully wrinkly, not to mention a little green. The Doctor himself had once looked like that after falling asleep in the Roman baths… he was sure Caeser had slipped something into his wine, or maybe he had simply drunk too much. He couldn’t really remember…
“Soooo, the Face of Yoe, eh?” He put his hands in his trench-coat pocket and spun on his heels. “Yoe, Yoe, Yoda, Yoe.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave a trade-mark eyebrow raise. “No relation to the Face of Boe then, I take it.
“Boe, I know not. Face of Yoe, am I.”
“Pleased to meet you. Sorry for the mix up…”
“Deliver a message, I must. Of great importance.”
“If it’s ‘You are not alone’ then I’ve heard that one already.” His expression darkened. “It didn’t end well.
“Alone, you are not. Find Luke an-”
“Freeze!” The Doctor spun around to see a silhouette emerge from the shadows. “Who gave you authorisation to communicate with the prisoners?”
“Oh, uh, authorisation. Yes.” He produced a little leather wallet and flashed it to the armed man. He was dressed head-to-toe in white - completely opposite to the figure he had encountered earlier - carried a large, (almost comic), gun and wore a helmet. The Doctor was starting to feel left out. He wanted a helmet too…
“Sorry, Sir. Please accept my apologies. I was not informed of your arrival.”
“Aww, that’s all right, Stig.” He looked at his trusty Psychic Paper and wondered what it had said. Ah well, best to play along. “Well, if you don’t mind, I was having a conversation…”
“Yes, Sir.” He bowed and exited the room, leaving the Doctor alone with Yoe once more.
“Right, that’s him gone. What were you saying…?” His shoulders dropped when he received no response
Crosses instead of eyes. That can’t be good.
“No, no, no! You can’t die! Not now!” He ran around to the back of the machine and whipped out his sonic screwdriver. The blue light pulsed brightly in the darkness. Nope, there was nothing he could do.
Yoe was gone.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Then he remembered. “Oh, the message. Ah. What did you say? Look…?”
“Luke! Come’on!”
“Huh?!” He palm met his forehead. “Oh, Luke!” Hang on a second. Who had said that? He ran over to the door, impatiently hopping from one foot to the other as he waited for it to rise. He ducked under and just caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing around the corner. He began to chase after it - again with the running?! - but was faced with a T-junction corridor. Should he turn left or right? His head shook
from side to side as he weighed up his options.
He took a chance and turned right. After all, where could you possibly go wrong from turning right…?
By now, the Doctor really had no idea where he was. At least the TARDIS had signposts.
The TARDIS. Oops. Where had he left her? Maybe he should install a homing device… Lost in his train of thought, the Doctor - not noticing the change of surroundings - found himself skidding to a stop, rather too suddenly for his liking. He stared around him in confusion, looking for the reason behind his unexpected halt. Glancing down towards his mid-drift, the Timelord sprung back, horror and fear pumping through his veins.
“It can’t be… but… that’s impossible!”
“Hello,” something in front of him said, “I am…”
“A Futuristic Cyberman? I have to say, this new model is a much better upgrade than the last - the earmuff look never did work for me.” Striding forward, the Doctor sharply rapped his knuckles on the gleaming head, trying not to wince as they collided with the cold metal. Shaking his hand out, the Doctor’s eyes then fell on the smaller companion beside the first “And… a Dalek as well? And I was having such a good day!"
Tilting his head to the side, the Doctor paused. “Hmm…” They seemed to be just as confused as him. “Maybe not…Who are you?”
“I am C3P0, human-cyborg relations. And this is my counterpart, R2D2.”
“Oh.” With a sudden flash of his infectious smile, the Doctor continued, “I’m the Doctor.”
Before the droid in front of him - whom by this point the Doctor had decided couldn’t possibly be a Cyberman as he hadn’t yet mentioned the word ‘Delete’ - could respond, a third voice entered their conversation. Glancing around him in surprise, his eyes eventually fell on the small communicator grasped in the droid’s golden hand.
“3P0? Come in, 3P0. Where are you?”
“Master Luke. We have met a man who claims to be called the Doctor.”
“Luke?” The Doctor repeated to himself, frowning softly. The smaller of the two droids let out a sudden series of shrill beeps, causing the first to look down on him.
“Don’t tell me to hurry up, you worthless piece of tin,” 3P0 exclaimed in response, bringinh his hand sharply down on R2’s head, causing him to whir in indignation.
“Stay there, 3P0, we’ll come and find you.”
“Who’s coming?” the Doctor asked his new companions, now completely bewildered about who was who, and where.
“Master Luke, of course, and Mistress Leia. And that dreadful pilot…”
Before the droid could finish his sentence, three figures came sprinting into the hanger from the far end, one of them quite obviously carrying a gun.
“Just like any other planet,” the Doctor grumbled to himself, ignoring the looks he was receiving from C3P0.
“Stay right there,” the man with the gun shouted as all three drew near, aiming the blaster straight at the Doctor.
“Tell me what you want with those droids,” the younger man demanded, quite bizarrely waving his hand in the air.
“Er…nothing?” the Doctor responded, bemused. Before they could answer, a steady rhythm of marching feet could be heard, heading straight towards the hanger they were in. Judging by the looks the humans (or at least, that’s what the Doctor supposed they were) were shooting at each other, this was not good news. And bad news often only meant one thing: more running.
“I’ll hold them off,” the first man said, waving his blaster in the air. Both the Doctor and the female newcomer rolled their eyes at his obvious arrogance.
“You’ll get yourself killed. If we run, we can make it to the Falcon before they reach us.” At her advice, the trio - along with their droids - began running back the way they had come, leaving the Doctor standing on his own in the middle of the hanger. Unsure of whether to follow them or not, he glanced around just in time to see a door at the far end open and hundreds of figures clad in white spill into the room. All of their blasters raised simultaneously at the man in the middle.
“Freeze!”
“Now I really want a helmet. Wait for me!” Sprinting after the retreating backs, the Doctor caught a glimpseas the party disappeared through a ship door. Tracing their steps up a metal-grated ramp, the Doctor found himself faced with a rapidly closing door. Throwing himself under and rolling through the gap, the Doctor heard a clatter as the screwdriver left his pocket. Reaching out, he managed to grab his favourite gadget with just a millisecond to spare.
He looked up from his awkward position to meet the narrowed eyes of Han Solo.
“I could have done that with minutes to spare,” he huffed and turned to walk off, but a firm hand stopped him.
“Wait,” said Luke, suspicion rising in his voice. “Who are you?”
“Ahhh, I thought you’d ask that. Welll,” the Doctor said, pulling a small leather wallet from his pocket and flicking it open. I’m whoever the psychic paper tells you I am… he added mentally.
The three confused faces drew closer as they examined the blank page…
Leia:
Dashingly handsome and available.
Han:
Best star-fighter in the galaxy
Luke:
…
The young blond, a frown settled on his pale features, took a step forward. “You can’t play mind tricks with me! Now tell us,” his hand reached for a silver buttoned tube attached to his waistband. He repeated himself demandingly, “Who are you?”
The Doctor’s eyes widened excitedly, as a green light juuummm-ed into his vision. “Ooo! I have one of those! Look!” He whipped out the sonic screwdriver and won a round of ‘Ooooooos’ from Luke, Leia and the droids.
Leia eyed it up admiringly; comparing the new-age, sleek design with Luke’s clunky pipe. “Now that’s more like it…!”
Han rolled his eyes, “Oh, brother…”
“I know what you are.”
“Say it,” the Doctor prompted, eyebrows raised quizzically. “Say it out loud.”
“Jedi Master,” Luke replied, looking at the new arrival with an expression of suspicion, confusion and a splash of jealousy.
“Ohhhh, yep! That’s me! Jedi Master… er… Doctor,” he finished lamely.
“Never heard of you,” cut in Han, only to receive a punch on the arm from Leia. She muttered something about him being rude, then turned her attention to the suited man, eyelashes fluttering like there’s no tomorrow.
“So that’s what he meant by ‘You are not alone…’”
“Boe…” the Doctor murmured to no one in particular.
“No. Yoe.”
“Ohh, please don’t start that again!”
“Look, we really should be going,” Leia grabbed the Doctor’s hand, pulled him to his feet and began dragging him towards the cockpit, her face beaming. “You’re riding up front with us!”
Luke and Han were left in their wake, mouths hanging open in utter disbelief.
Not protesting in the slightest as he was almost forcibly dragged into the cockpit, the Doctor let a low whistle of approval slide through his lips. The ship was obviously state of the art. Whipping out his specs once more, the Doctor balanced them on the edge of his nose as he slowly began to circle the interior, drinking in every inch of her craftsmanship.
“Very Spock,” he commented out loud, not really expecting anyone to actually pay attention.
“And the fastest ship in the galaxy,” Han Solo commented, striding with an arrogant confidence into the cockpit and swinging himself with ease into the pilot’s seat. Luke slipped past the Doctor, shooting him a look of apology mingled with respect as he slid into the second seat up at the front. With a flick of a switch, the pilot smoothly let the ship gain a little altitude as he skilfully swung her around. Give the man some credit, the Doctor couldn’t help but grudgingly admit he did indeed know how to handle his craft. It reminded him of a time long ago when the TARDIS used to handle as smoothly as this. That is, before she developed her lovable way of throwing him to his destination. Uh oh… the TARDIS! As the Falcon shot gracefully out of a small opening and catapulted into space, the Doctor jumped to his feet, causing Han to start in surprise and jolt the ship rather violently.
“No, wait! We can’t take off! My ship’s still down there!”
TO BE CONTINUED...
